


Late Paper

by supersoakerx



Category: The Science Room - SNL Sketch
Genre: Daddy Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Teacher-Student Relationship, Teacher/Student Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:47:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24178399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supersoakerx/pseuds/supersoakerx
Summary: You don't hand in assignment to Professor Adams.
Relationships: Professor Zachary Adams/Reader, Professor Zachary Adams/You
Comments: 6
Kudos: 52





	Late Paper

From the front of the lecture room, he calls your name. “Your paper, please.”

You glower at him, pissed off and unapologetic. He couldn’t possibly be serious.

He calls you by your last name now, puts “Miss” in front of it like he’s some kind of classic, charming, debonair gentleman. “Now, if you would be so kind.”

You huff in your seat. “I haven’t done it, _professor_ ,” you hiss the word, “I haven’t completed it. I’ll have it for you tomorrow.”

He purses his lips, squints a little, tsks at you. “It’s not due _tomorrow_ , my dear,” he replies, but it’s not affectionate. It’s patronising, and he sets his face is set in a subtle, wry smile.

Snickers echo in your ears from the students around you.

You cross your arms and glare at him. He knows you haven’t finished your paper, he knew when he first asked you for it. What’s more, he knows perfectly well that _he_ is the reason why.

You scowl at him indignantly, not abiding the easy, casual way he slips around to the front of his desk and leans back against it, takes off his glasses and folds them, crosses his arms and tilts his head to the side. He’s happy to let the giggles and the snickers continue, happy to let them die out naturally and embarrass the fuck out of you all the while.

The students settle, and he says your name again. “Hang back after class a minute, would you? We need to discuss your penalty, and, I’ll spare you the indignity of having that discussion in front of your peers.”

You chew your lip, more aggressively than necessary. “I’ve got time. _Professor_.” So snarky, so salty and irritated.

You hear someone two rows in front of you whisper to the person next to them, ‘ _God, why is she such a bitch to him_?’ You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts.

His eyes glint and sparkle, you can tell from your seat at the back of the lecture hall. “I can assure you, it’ll be worth every second. This paper _is_ worth 45 per cent of your grade, after all.” He smiles, oozing warmth and charm, at the next person on his list. “Your paper?” he asks them, never looking back.

The rest of the lecture passes painfully. Thank God you’d packed extra snacks today, on instinct. You had three cookies: milk chocolate chip, almond and caramel, and macadamia and white chocolate. His ‘no eating in seminars’ rule be damned.

When the lecture ends and everyone clears out, you brush the crumbs off your chest and shove your things into your bag. Some other poor dolt is already up the front, stammering about his missing assignment with the Professor, who stands there all dignified and elegant and—

You arrive at his desk just as the other student walks away, thanking the Professor profusely. _Pathetic_. You roll your eyes and sigh.

When the kid is out the door, you dump your bag on Adams’ desk, right on top of all his papers, and cross your arms in a huff. “What am I doing here?”

His glinting eyes flick down to your bag, and back again, as he bites the insides of his cheeks to keep from smiling.

He steps closer to you, and you turn away from him with a scowl, leaning your butt up against his desk to face the empty seats of the lecture hall.

“Now, now, cookie,” he croons, sidling up to you, so close he could almost press his front to your left side, “don’t be like that.”

“Like what?” you snarl at him, “you’re happy to humiliate me in front of everyone, make me _explain_ myself in front of the whole—,” you sigh, shaky, and say quieter, “you knew I hadn’t done that work.”

_He’d sucked your clit swollen and fucked you blind._

“I did.”

_He’d made you cum on his cock and scream ‘Daddy’ for all the night to hear._

“So why?” You set your jaw firm and tight, not even daring to look at him. You know his blazing eyes are drilling holes in the side of your head, you can feel it, and if you looked at him now there’d be nothing stopping you from fucking him on his desk like an animal.

“Appearances,” he says softly, casually, like it’s obvious, the back of his index finger trailing down your left upper arm.

You scoff and turn your head to the right, the foulest expression crossing your features.

He leans in, drops his voice, “what do you like about fucking me?”

You supress a shiver, his hot breath tickling your skin. You huff an angry sigh through your nose, too pissed off to fall prey to his charms. Yet. “You’ve got a big cock.” You say it so flat, so deadpan, like you don’t actually care about how well-endowed he is, not one bit.

He chuckles, throaty and deep. “No, that’s not it.”

“Are you going to mansplain my own attraction to you, to me?” You feel along your teeth with your tongue. They’re sharp. It’s comforting, for some reason.

“Settle down, cookie,” he coos, his palm slipping underneath the back of your sweater, his thumb running over your bare skin, “I know why you like fucking me, and so do you.”

You bristle, standing up straighter, unhappy that his warm digit is soothing against your back. “Go on, then,” you spit out, resisting the urge to drop to your knees before him.

He hums. He senses it, the small fracture in your resolve. He takes a half-step closer, pressing his body against yours, his eyes flicking to the sliver of window in the door. There’s not a soul to be seen, not at this time on a Friday. “It’s not for _grades_ , it’s not to _pass_. You and I both know you’re smart enough to succeed in this class without any _special consideration_ from me.”

He smells like mints, and Penhaligon’s, and the leather of his freshly detailed car. You try not to lean in to him.

“No, you like fucking me because you like calling an old man ‘Daddy’ when he makes you cum.”

Your breath hitches. You keep your eyes steely.

“You like sneaking around campus to do it. You like meeting me under the cover of darkness to do it. You like when I pass you notes, telling you how I’m going to do it.”

You cross an ankle over the other, squeezing your thighs together, and tighten your arms where they’re folded.

He smirks, “subtle, cookie,” and his breath fans over your ear as he says, slow and deep, “I think, you’d like to _keep_ fucking me. Am I right about that?”

You let out another sigh through your nose, your lips pursed tight, your eyes set hard and cold.

He sighs. He wishes you wouldn’t scowl so much. You’re so pretty when you don’t scowl so much.

Professor Adams drops his hand lower, snakes his fingers under your skirt, under the waistband of your panties. “Come on, cookie,” he nuzzles the shell of your ear with his nose. “Tell Daddy he’s right.”

You can’t believe he’s done this, and what’s more, you can’t believe you’re about to tell him he’s done this—broken you down, cracked you open, _seduced_ you, yet again. “You’re right.” You clip the ‘t’, make it snap, try to claw back some kind of agency with a brackish, bitter tone in your voice.

“Well then,” he slips his other hand under the front of your skirt, up your thighs and inside your panties to seek out the very core of you, “we can’t let anyone _know_ that we’re fucking, can we?”

You uncross your ankles, spread your legs just the tiniest bit, and tilt your head to the side, exposing your neck to him. Your face is murderous, but between your thighs you’re _throbbing_.

“Mmm,” he hums, slipping two fingers along your slippery folds and trailing his nose up the column of your neck, “you do a pretty good job of looking like you want to murder me,” the pads of his fingers catch on your clit and you gasp. He laughs lowly, “but Daddy knows how badly you want his, what did you say, ‘big’ cock.”

Your breath comes sharply through your nose for a whole different reason now, his fingers dancing over your clit forcing you to uncross your arms, grip the edge of the desk in your right hand and clutch onto his jostling forearm with your left.

“If I fuck you here and now, will you forgive me?”

You pinch your brow tight, your mouth dropped open as he rubs two slippery fingers over your stiff bud. “Nnuhh-nno,” you pant, lifting your fiery hot gaze to look him in the eyes. They gleam devilishly.

He grunts a laugh. “Daddy’s got a long night ahead of him, then.”

“Yes,” you breathe, “Daddy,” and he kisses you, presses his big full plush pink lips to yours while he polishes your clit with the soft pads of his thick fingers. You open your mouth to him and he speeds up the pace, his arm pumping as he licks your tongue and swirls around it with his own.

You moan and goes right through his chest, his fingers making slick wet sounds as they brush over your clit furiously. He breaks the kiss and says, “I’m gonna bend you over this desk, and fuck that dirty look clear off your face.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you pant, your nipples pebbling up tight inside your bra.

He hums, gruff, and spins you around in a flurry and you brace yourself with flat palms on his desk. His hands fly to his belt and you pull up your skirt, shuck down your panties, just in time for him to glide the silky, swollen head of his cock along your puffy, slippery lips. “You gave Daddy a hard time today, cookie.”

“You deserved it,” you sigh, trying to grind your cunt onto him.

He growls, letting his cockhead catch inside you for half a moment before pulling it out, over and over, “Daddy’s not gonna be gentle.”

“Good,” is all you say, and then you _moan_ as the Professor slams into you, knocking you forward on his desk as he splits you in two on his dick.

“Fuck!” you cry out when he’s fully sheathed inside you, filling you up with his thick, long cock. You swear you can feel all the veins of it massaging all the ridges inside you.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, starting to move his hips, “can’t fucking believe this tight little cunt.”

“Daddy,” it falls from your lips almost without the consent of your brain, “fuck,” your eyes start to water as he thrusts into you, his cock gliding effortlessly in and out of your slick hole.

“Oh yeah, that’s right, you love Daddy’s big cock, you love when he fucks you like this.”

You clench on him, trying to suck and swallow and keep him inside you. You want to tell him yes, you want to _scream_ it for him, but you haven’t forgotten the reason you’re here in the first place. “I’m not, gonna write, that fucking paper.”

“What?” he falters for half a thrust, then grips your hips hard and rails you with his cock again.

“Iihhh, I’mmm not gonna, write it.” You pant over your words, the subtle change in angle nudging your clit against the hard wooden desk deliciously.

“Ahh, Christ,” he groans, “you make my life fucking hard.”

Hot pleasure builds and coils in your gut. “No,” you pant, “what I do is make your cock hard, Daddy.”

He groans, ragged and deep. “What do you—fuck—want for it, to not—shit!—write it, _fuhhck!_ ”

You huff, and puff, “eighty.”

“Hah!” he laughs through a grunt, “s-sixty.”

“Sevenny-five,” you gasp.

“Uughhh,” he groans, feeling your pussy clench on him, “sixty-five and I’ll say I lost it.”

It wouldn’t even touch your GPA. “Fine!”

“Fine!” He grips your hair and pulls your head back, marvels at how your ass cheeks jiggle and bounce with every snap of his hips. “Fuuhhcking shit, you’re so fucking sexy, cookie.”

The tug on your hair sends tingles of pleasure through your fingers, toes, tits, cunt, and the change of angle arches your back, grinds your clit into the desk harder. “Daddy, fuck, I’m so close.”

“Yeah?” he huffs, pounding into you harder, making the desk shake, making the _slapslapslap_ of skin to skin ring out across the lecture room, “cookie’s gonna cum on Daddy’s cock?”

“Ahuh, ahuh, hmmmh,” you moan, unable to form words, unable to think about anything at all besides what he’s just asked you to do.

You shove your hand up under your sweater, pinch and pull at one of your nipples through your bra and he can feel it, you know he can feel what it did to your cunt.

“There you go, there you go, squeeze Daddy’s cock and cum, cookie, do it now,” he talks over top of groans, grunts, exertion making his voice ragged and raspy.

“Shit, shit!” you curse, feeling it build, feeling it rise, feeling it-

“Remember what you say to me,” he husks.

And you break. “Daddy!” It’s a strangled scream, a broken moan, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” a whine, a whimper, as you cum all over him, drowning his cock in your slippery slick cum.

“ _Fuck_ yeah, _fuck yeah_ ,” he croons as you clench and squeeze and cum on him, “Daddy’s got a big fat load for you, cookie,” he fucks you _hard_ through your orgasm, “gonna blow it all over these cheeks,” he takes a hand from your hip and spanks you, a nice tight _slap_ on your smooth, supple flesh.

“Yes, Daddy, paint me, cum all over me,” you puff out, breathless, eyes crossing from his relentless pace.

He feels your spasms subside, his pride and ego flaring in the knowledge that he fucked you through _another_ orgasm, and he feels his own approaching quickly. “Ahgh _fuck_ cookie, Daddy’s gonna cum.”

“Yes, yes, Daddy,” you chant for him, in time with his thrusts, “yes, Daddy, yes.”

He throws his head back, shuts his eyes tight, holds on just a little longer. “Gonna—cum—cookie,” he grunts, dragging out the very very last last of it.

“Please, Daddy!” you whine, and it does him in.

He yanks his cock out of you and slaps it onto your ass, groaning and shuddering and shooting spurts of hot cum onto your skin and your rucked up skirt. “Oh fuck, _oh_ fuck,” the moans are yanked from him as his cock twitches with the last of his thick load, expelling every drop from deep inside. “Jesus shit,” he cusses, panting, smearing a glob into your ass cheek with his thumb.

“I still haven’t forgiven you,” you say, haughty.

“I know,” he breathes, admiring the mess he made of you, “I know, cookie.” He takes a steadying breath. “Daddy’s got a long night ahead of him.”


End file.
